Are We Friends?
by Herculeha
Summary: Miranda asks to dance with the real Larry Tudgeman, not Lawrence. Oneshot.


**Are We Friends?**

I don't know what to make of this.

All I _do_ know is that I'm not even going to tell Lizzie. Ever. Sorry Lizzie, but there are some things you just don't even tell your best friend. It's too secret, too embarrassing, too gross. Heck, I'm even grossed out by myself. But my heart apparently does not care about the grossness factor of all this.

"Hey, Miranda."

Oh. My. God. It's true. My heart just skipped a beat. And all he did was greet me as we passed each other in the hall.

I give a small wave and wobbly smile. "Hey, Larry."

And he's gone. But why does it feel like he's taken my breath with him?

* * *

This horrible, disgusting crush must have begun developing at my party. My first boy-girl party, the one Larry showed up to in disguise. I danced with him before I realized who he really was and had a great time. I actually felt my heart being carried away by the charming stranger before guilt finally overcame him and he dropped the disguise.

This stupid crush is all my fault. If I hadn't excluded him from my party, he wouldn't have felt the need to come in disguise and impress me. And then I never would have danced with him, gotten swept away, and learned to see Larry Tudgeman as a person.

Stupid, stupid morals!

* * *

"Miranda, I've noticed that you and Tudgeman have been getting rather friendly lately," Gordo says as he attacks the mashed potatoes on his lunch tray.

I am impressed. Gordo is usually blissfully unaware of his surroundings.

"Yeah," Lizzie says thoughtfully. "I've noticed that, too. You actually say hi when you see each other and stuff."

I shrug as if it's no big deal. "I feel bad for excluding him from my party."

Lizzie is skeptical. "Still? That party was like, two months ago."

I unconsciously grip the table. "You guys taught me that Larry is a person, too. The least I can do is say hi."

"Larry, now, is he?" Gordo wiggles his eyebrows.

I say nothing and dig into my slimy Jell-O to cover up the dreadful silence.

* * *

It is after school. I am exiting the building on my own because I had to stay after to make up a Spanish test I missed due to being sick last week. As the door closes behind me, I hear footsteps running to catch up. I see a flash of turquoise out of the corner of my eye.

"Miranda, hi." Larry Tudgeman is walking beside me, slightly breathless from running.

A smile comes to my face. He smiles back. "Hi, Larry. Were you staying after for something?"

"Research in the computer lab," he replies. There is a slight pause (a nervous one?) before he says, "Are you walking home? Because I know we live kinda near each other and I was wondering if you'd mind if I walked with you."

Alone time with Larry. No one nearby to laugh at me. Real conversations. No Lizzie or Gordo or Kate or Claire to make faces. I nod. "I don't mind."

"Cool."

There is silence for awhile as we walk, staring at our sneakers and listening to the wind rustle the leaves. I shift my backpack and Larry coughs lightly.

Just as I awkwardly say, "So, um…what's up?" Larry bursts, "Miranda, are we friends?"

His question touches me in a way that I can't quite explain. I look up at him to really study his face. He is biting his lower lip nervously. He blue-gray eyes are lifted by his worried, raised eyebrows. His dark pupils seem to quiver with emotions that I'm too afraid to identify.

I don't even notice that we've stopped walking until I look down at my stationary shoes. I bite the inside of my cheek. When I look up again, I say, "I want to dance with you again."

I don't know who is more shocked by my response — Larry or myself.

"What?"

"I want another dance with Larry Tudgeman."

"But we — "

"That wasn't Larry Tudgeman I danced with. That was 'Lawrence.'"

"But he and I are one and the same."

"No. He is a disguise. I don't want a disguise."

Larry finally stops arguing. He just looks at me for a long moment. He blinks, then says, "You — Miranda Sanchez — want to dance with me, Larry Tudgeman."

I shrug my backpack off my shoulders, step forward, and put my arms around he neck. I honestly can't say why I'm doing this. Usually I would be desperately fearing for my reputation. But the way Larry is looking at me makes me forget to care.

His hands hold my waist gently and I take another step forward. I realize that Lizzie and I are wrong — he does indeed shower and actually smells quite good.

He opens his mouth and I know he is about to comment on the absence of music. So I cover up his unasked question by humming the first slow song that comes to mind: "This I Promise You" by NSYNC, of all songs. I blame it on Lizzie, who wanted a "blast from the past," so to speak, so yesterday she unburied all her old CDs.

I sway a little and he follows suit. It must look incredibly stupid, I know. But knowing and caring are two completely different matters. I am starting to learn things. I should not be grossed out by my crush on Larry. That isn't fair to him. Not when he is nice, funny, caring, and holding my waist and looking at me like I'm the only girl in the whole entire world.

I can tell he wants to kiss me. And I know I've learned my lesson when my skin does not crawl at the thought of his lips touching mind. Indeed, my heart begins to race and my chest feels too small to hold the electricity buzzing in the rapidly beating organ.

We stop dancing and I stop humming. I press my lower arms into his shoulders to propel myself toward his face. My eyes catch his for a split second before they close and our lips meet in a cautious, nervous kiss.

I have never kissed a boy before. A few months ago, I would have shriveled up and died had I know Larry Tudgeman would be my first. But now my veins are coursing with rich, warm desire. I hope the whole world sees that I'm kissing Larry Tudgeman and _enjoying_ it!

We break the first kiss but don't even wait to give it a second go. This time our lips are more sure, not stumbling and nervous. It is a very rewarding experience.

I'm not sure when, but we eventually start walking again. My backpack is back on my shoulders and Larry's arm is snug around my waist. I like it there.

"More than," I finally say.

Larry looks at me. "What?"

"You asked if we're friends."

He takes a second to let this sink in. When he decides the answer is quite satisfactory, he gives me a third kiss.

I still don't know what to make of this. But I do know that I _am_ going to tell Lizzie. And Gordo for that matter. Everyone! Larry is nothing to be ashamed about. I know this for a fact when I hear myself whisper, "On second thought, Larry, I'm not going home. Want to stop for ice cream?"


End file.
